Читать книгу The Mist and the Lightning. Part 19 онлайн

“Well, if I can’t touch such weak rubbish, then what can I say about others! They’ll kill me now if they want to! On distance!” In desperation, Kors again tried to squeeze Tyutya, and again nothing happened. He stepped back. Tyutya began to rinse his clean feet with water from a jug.

“Tyutya… Tyutya… does this bitch even have a name? Maybe knowing her real name, I can influence her?” And as soon as Kors thought about it, a set of numbers and letters appeared before his eyes. Kors saw it very clearly – “ms13590vg”. He always memorized numerical combinations easily, often marking his documents with numbers. He said to his secretary: “Bring me a folder number such and such from the archive …” I knew by heart all the numbers of the articles of the code. No, it seemed that Tyuti never had a name as such, but she had an inventory number!

Night. A low gray barrack with rows of wicker mats on the floor. Many girls, a couple of dozen, or even more, lie on mats and sleep. Here is Tyutya. She doesn’t sleep, clings to the girl lying next to her, they hug, cling to each other. Tyutya is eight or nine years old, but girls can be older, Kors is already used to the fact that the children in his visions always look not at their real age, because of difficult life circumstances they are thin and small. And Tyutya still has a tongue, and her breast has not yet been touched, it simply doesn’t exist, because it has not grown yet. A whole kaleidoscope of very bright, warm and pleasant moments swirls past his gaze, always associated with this other girl, whose inventory number is “ms137100of”. She and Tyutya are best friends, always together, laughing, hugging, kissing each other. He sees some classes in which slaves are taught to work. Girls also learn to wear a cape, Tyutya and all other learners have no face. They are constantly washing, scrubbing, rubbing and cleaning. They don’t really like it, but there is nowhere to go, and they dutifully perform tasks: they sweep and wash the floors, wash dirty dishes to a shine, weed some beds, pick ripe dark red berries from tall bushes. Daily work from early morning to late evening. On a certain day they are beaten, not for any faults, but just for order, they are beaten quite noticeably. Kors quickly flips through the story of the life of a slave, like the pages of a book that is not interesting to him. He doesn’t want to look at the memories, consisting of endless work, beatings and violence. But he sees that every night Tyutya and “ms137100of” cling to each other on their miserable mats and love each other. Oddly enough, their teachers don’t pay much attention to this. Adult women, covered with capes and faceless, they are not interested in the life of their wards.